


Christmas Comes But Once a Year (So Let's Get Pissed)

by Margo_Kim



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Christmas, First Time, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-21
Updated: 2010-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-31 14:10:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/344893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Margo_Kim/pseuds/Margo_Kim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their Christmas plans were the worst kept secret in the office. Officially, Gene was spending the day with family. Officially, Sam was visiting friends from Hyde. In reality, everyone knew that Gene planned to spend his first Christmas alone with Sam for reasons the station could only guess at.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas Comes But Once a Year (So Let's Get Pissed)

**Author's Note:**

> **Recipient:** [](http://basaltgrrl.livejournal.com/profile)[**basaltgrrl**](http://basaltgrrl.livejournal.com/)  
> 

When Catherine looked through the peephole and saw who it was, she almost didn’t open the door. Almost. But it was Christmas and all that bollocks, and anyway the man on her doorstep wasn’t the type to give up because everyone wanted him to, so she pulled the door open with a sigh.

“You know we’re divorced, right?” were the first words out of her mouth.

Gene scowled, not so much at her as at the world in general. “I’m paying for the damn flat. The least you can do is let me in.” He stood on the threshold as solid and surly as ever. Catherine wondered whether the fact that divorce left him so unchanged was a testimony to his emotional strength or the piss-poor quality of their marriage. Could go either way.

“The least I could do is shut the door in your face,” she said, but she let him into the entrance way. Her girlfriends giggled in the kitchen. Catherine saw how much that confused Gene. He’d never heard that sound in his house when they’d been together. Strange, she thought, how out-of-place among the knick knacks of her new life. Strange how easily she’d slipped away from him. There really was no space here for Gene anymore.

The fact that she wasn’t really that sad about it was definitely a testimony to the piss-poor quality of their marriage.

She crossed her arms and stared him down. “So what is it?”

Now, at last, Gene had the courtesy to look sheepish. He pulled a tie out from his coat pocket (the blue one, she noted disapprovingly. He’d never learned that it made his neck look fat.) and held it out hopelessly.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

He scowled and that was more the Gene she knew. “It’s not my fault the ruddy things get tangled. You shouldn’t need to go to uni to figure out how to do a Windsor.”

She shouldn’t have laughed, but she couldn’t help it. Gene’s scowl deepened, and she laughed even harder. He looked just like he had their first date, covered in flop sweat on her doorstep and clutching a bouquet of roses like they’d insulted him. _Bless_ , she thought in spite of herself.

“Got a date for Christmas, huh?” she teased. Gene tensed.

“Just want to look nice.” It would have been more convincing if he hadn’t mumbled. She shook her head.

“Don’t wear that. Wear the green shirt. It’s more festive.” Gene in his green shirt slowly dancing her around the room. Gene in his green shirt telling her about his day. Gene in his green shirt coming home early on her birthdays. Not all the memories were bad ones. “It brings out your eyes,” she said.

“Hmm.” Gene didn’t look convinced, but he nodded. He’d always bowed to her on fashion. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” she said. “That tie makes you look like shit.”

“Says the woman wearing a dress that Ziggy Stardust passed up as too neon.” Gene looked down at the limp tie in his hands. “You were me best mate, Cathy,” he said suddenly. “For a long time.”

Ah, that was what he was after. Comfort. She patted him on the arm. Poor man. For all his bravado and charm and inherent Gene-ness, he never was good at seduction when it mattered. It’d been one of those stupid things she’d found charming when they’d met. “You’ll do fine. What girl wouldn’t want to be wooed by you?”

“The answer to that question’s right in front of me.”

“Yeah well, it worked once, didn’t it?” She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. It was like kissing her brother. Fantastic. “You want my advice?” Gene opened his mouth. “Of course you do.” She pointed up at the little green sprig hanging from the ceiling. “Mistletoe. Works every time.” Gene looked at it thoughtfully. She jerked her head at the door. “Now out. I don’t want to keep the girls wanting. We’re paying the stripper by the hour, and let me tell you, the fees are bloody ridiculous.”

Gene laughed like it was a joke. _Bless,_ she thought again and closed the door behind him. She scurried back to her own Christmas celebration.

***

Sam’s flat was as cheery as it was possible for Sam’s flat to be: not very. But he’d put in a good effort, tacked up some lights around the windows, bought a fake tree topped off with a crooked star that he stuck in the corner. It’d never be a happy place without ripping off the wallpaper and sprinkling the entire place in holy water, but it passed muster. And anyway they were both too drunk to care.

Well, Gene was too drunk to care. Sam wasn’t the type to let a great bottle of whisky interfere with his moping. “Christ, this is depressing,” he said. “Why didn’t we go to your house?”

Gene shrugged and put his feet on Sam’s coffee table. Sam swatted them off. “The Missus left piles of rubbish lying around when she left. Wasn’t sorting through that.”

“Didn’t she move out two months ago?”

“I’ll get to it. You could pop on a maid’s uniform yourself, Gladys. I’d like to see that.”

“I bet you would,” Sam said. The silence that followed meant neither really knew what that meant.

Gene sprawled across Sam’s couch—the nice new one that Sam had bought with the intention sitting on it himself, but it was too small to fit two men comfortable unless they didn’t mind lying on top of each other. He looked comfortable, on the couch and in his own skin. He was wearing his green shirt, the one from their undercover job, and the top was unbuttoned just enough to catch Sam’s eye. He wondered what it’d look like even one button lower.

Not that Sam noticed that kind of thing or anything.

Gene belched contentedly and rubbed his stomach. Clearly, he’d approved of dinner. “It’s still better than the office party Litton tried to outdrink the Gene Genie and ended the night by flashing the station. That was before your time. Great night, still got the pictures somewhere. Mind you, there’s not much to see in them.”

Sam straddled the kitchen chair and debated whether the effort of pulling out the bed was worth the place to sit. Probably wouldn’t be any more comfortable than his current arrangement. “A bit small then?” Sam asked with the feeling that he really shouldn’t be encouraging this kind of thing.

Gene grinned. “Lilliputian.” He held out his flask.

Sam waved it off and stood. His liver really couldn’t handle what Gene chugged down. “‘Lilliputian,’ Gene? Really?” he said as he walked to the kitchen.

“Didn’t think you were one to knock big words.”

Sam grabbed the wine he’d stashed, a 1969 merlot he’d bought from Nelson. It was as old as he was, he thought with mild horror, as he fished around for the corkscrew. “Why shouldn’t I? I’m still getting shit for using ‘chicanery’ and that was three weeks ago.” He popped the cork out and grinned at Gene.

Gene held out his glass with a grimace. “Don’t see why we had to get fancy.”

“Says the man who said ‘Lilliputian.’” Sam grabbed Gene by the wrist to steady the glass. The heat of his skin surprised Sam. Its softness did too. “Because this is Christmas and you do things differently on Christmas. And I’m sick of whiskey.” Sam filled Gene’s glass up halfway and tried to pass it back. Gene looked at it with contempt. Sam sighed and filled it to the brim. “It’s supposed to have room to breathe.”

Gene snatched the glass with a complete lack of the proper reverence in Sam’s opinion. Sam’s hand felt cold now. “This a vintage?” he asked, sniffing it cautiously.

Sam poured himself a glass to collect his thoughts. “Everything is.” He bumped his glass against Gene’s and drank.

***

Christmas had snuck up on the station. The CID barely noticed the date had changed to December until Litton turned up in the newspaper wearing a Santa hat in a picture captioned, “Ho ho ho, the Regional Crime Squad ushers in the holiday season with a drug bust.” While Chris doodled a penis on Litton’s forehead, Sam fretted. More so than usual, anyway. He didn’t like Christmas at home. In 2006. Either one. He’d spent last Christmas with Maya, watching _Die Hard_ and _Love, Actually_ while they finished up the end-of-year paperwork.

That’d been rather fun, actually.

But here, things were different. Neither of those movies had been made, for one. He couldn’t impose on Annie. Something about breaking up with someone, however mutually, then asking if you could crash their family holiday seemed gauche. He could hardly spend the day with Ray. They’d kill each other before the first light turned on. And Chris—well, Chris would be delighted to have him over. But as fond as he was of Chris, the thought of spending an entire evening with him and his family exhausted him.

Which left Gene, at least in theory. In practice, Gene would laugh Sam out of the office for just suggesting it. Despite evidence to the contrary, Sam wasn’t a glutton for punishment. So Sam would be spending Christmas alone.

Gene smacked Sam in the back of the head with a file folder. “Oi, Sammy, you’re doing Christmas with me. None of that poncy foreign food. We’re eating like Englishmen tomorrow. And don’t go babbling to everyone about this. Don’t want to look like I can’t do any better than a flat-chested bird like you.”

Apparently, Sam would have company after all. How fantastic.

He spent the rest of the day trying to figure out if that last sentence was sarcastic or not.

***

Technically, it was Christmas Day. At least according to the calendar and the clock, and Sam didn’t set store by either of those anymore. Besides, everyone knew it wasn’t Christmas Day until you woke up to presents. It couldn’t become Christmas unless you went to sleep and Sam wasn’t giving it to that just yet.

They’d both moved to the couch. Apparently, Gene didn’t mind the closeness. Apparently, Sam didn’t either. Quite the opposite, really, and that was confusing enough when he was sober. Sam could have stayed there happily for the rest of the night and the morning and a bit of tomorrow if it wasn’t for his empty glass. And the wine was _really_ good.

He stood with a groan. Gene grunted when he moved. He was half-asleep, no way Sam could send him home now. At least there was a couch to kip on this time, he thought, and drank the last of the wine out of the bottle.

Christ. That was a move he’d regret in the morning.

Sam turned around and Gene must have the power of teleportation or something because there he was, looming as he was wont to do. “You’re close,” Sam said rather stupidly because, and pardon the anachronistic language, duh.

“Yeah,” Gene said. “I am.” That made Sam feel better because that was also a rather stupid thing to say. They stood there, practically bumping their chests. Sam wondered if he was supposed to move. Gene could forget that happening. Sam was here first. Gene could bloody well move.

And Gene bloody well did. Sort of, at least. Specifically, he coughed in a way that would have sounded nervous if he was anybody besides Gene Hunt. The man in question pointed up. “That mistletoe?” he asked.

Sam looked. “Er. Mould.”

“Hmm.” They stared up at the mould together. It stared back down at them.

“I’m getting the landlord to check it out,” Sam said.

Gene nodded. “Good. Hmm.” He looked back down at Sam, eyes squinting in thought. “Well. It’s close enough,” he said decisively, grabbed Sam by the shoulders and kissed him. Hard. Sloppily. And with extreme enthusiasm.

Quite frankly, Sam’d had more romantic kisses. Even franker, he’d had better kisses. Still, this was Gene, Gene, kissing him like his life depended on it, like it was the only thing on his mind. Gene was pressed against him, moaning into his mouth, and that automatically skyrocketed this kiss in the rankings.

Plus, he’d never been kissed like his partner was trying to headbutt him. He liked that bit of novelty.

They broke apart, gasping. Sam’s lips felt bruised. That shouldn’t have been as arousing as it was.

“Well,” said Sam.

“Yeah,” said Gene.

“I might be a little attracted to you.”

“And why wouldn’t you be.”

The mould took this moment to start dripping. “Yeah,” Sam said. “It does that sometimes.” They took a step to the left and dove into round two.

***

Their Christmas plans were the worst kept secret in the office. Officially, Gene was spending the day with family. Officially, Sam was visiting friends from Hyde. In reality, everyone knew that Gene planned to spend his first Christmas alone with Sam for reasons the station could only guess at. The general consensus among the men was that Sam was a decent enough cook and Gene just wanted a nice dinner. After all, they joked, Sam certainly had the feminine touch that was lacking in Gene’s life.

The women had decided that the rumors that Gene and Sam didn’t hate each other were actually true, and therefore they must be the best of friends helping each other out during their hard times. It made both men even more appealing to the discerning WPC, and the office Christmas party was more flirtatious than usual. Sam just talked with Annie, though, and Gene played along, but they could tell his heart wasn’t in it. The women eventually shifted their attention slightly lower on the chain of command, and Chris and Ray had a very pleasant evening indeed.

The truth was more complicated than either explanations, and if anyone got close to guessing it, it was Annie who knew the value of shutting up and listening to the things people weren’t saying. And the words that Sam and Gene didn’t say to each other spoke volumes. When she figured out the truth—before either Sam or Gene did, she was proud to say—she kept it to herself. Between her psychology training and enduring Sam’s ravings, Annie was good at discretion.

She did, however, smile encouragingly every time she saw them together. She wasn’t entirely okay with it, and she didn’t understand it, but this was them. If Sam and Gene were doing it, it couldn’t be that bad. This…thing of theirs might even be good for them. If they ever figured it out anyway.

_Boys,_ she thought fondly. _God help us, they rule the world._ She shuddered at that and went back to her paperwork.

***

_Dear Santa,_ Sam thought, _turns out what I really want for Christmas is a blowjob from my boss._ Gene did, fuck, that thing with his tongue and Sam tossed his head back so hard he thought he snapped something.

_My four-year-olds self would still like a bike, though._

“You’re thinking too loud,” Gene said and if he was talking that meant he wasn’t doing other things with his mouth and that was unacceptable so Sam shut down his brain as best as he could and went back to begging.

***

Half a city away, Catherine woke to an empty bed and a feeling of contention she hadn’t known in years. Fifty miles away, Annie snuck downstairs to lay out Santa’s gifts for her nieces and nephews. Their glee when they came downstairs was worth the early morning. And neither woman could think of anywhere she’d rather be.

***

If you called a half-naked Gene Hunt a present, it was Christmas Day by anyone’s standards. Sam wasn’t sure what surprised him more, that Gene stuck around or that Gene pressed a kiss to his forehead when he woke. “Shagged you out, didn’t I?”

That didn’t surprise Sam. That he found comfortably familiar.

“You’re not terribly romantic,” Sam said. Where had he got this blanket from? Had Gene draped this over him while he slept? It must have been him or the Test Card Girl. It was probably the Test Card Girl.

Gene chuckled and lay back on the floor where they’d spent the night. “You’re not the first person to tell me that. Not even the first person this Christmas.” Sam waited for elaboration. Gene didn’t seem eager to offer any. Instead he looked at Sam, so seriously Sam shook off the last wisps of sleep and stared back equally intently. “Sam.” Gene paused. Gathering courage? Trying to find the words? “Do you like my green shirt?”

Sam blinked. “Er.” Gene waited. “Yes? It’s very nice.”

“Of course it is.” Gene shook his head ruefully. “Keep this from her. She’ll be smug.”

Thinking about Annie’s secretive smile these days, Sam had a feeling he knew someone who would be too. He laughed so suddenly that Gene jumped next to him. “Sorry,” Sam said. “Just thinking.”

“You think too much, Sammy boy.”

What the hell. It was Christmas. Sam rolled on top of Gene and straddled him. You would think that by now surprising Gene would have lost its appeal. You’d think that. “Why don’t you stop me then?”

And Gene did his absolute best.


End file.
